


i'm in love, i'm alive, oh, i'm burning

by cherryconke



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Sylvain Jose Gautier, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sex Pollen, Top Sylvain Jose Gautier, i finally wrote the switch fic of my dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: “Fe, Felix–fuck,it hurts.”“I know.” Felix brings his free hand to rest back on Sylvain’s forehead. It feels safe, practiced. Like home. “I’m here.”—Or: Sylvain falls into a sex pollen bush, and Felix makes it better.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 533





	i'm in love, i'm alive, oh, i'm burning

It starts when Sylvain falls into a bush.

Felix isn’t really paying attention to what Sylvain is doing behind him, just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The brushy scrub is thick, full of all sorts of wonderful surprises, thorns and nettles and a particularly abundant plant that gave Ingrid an awful rash when she accidentally walked through it yesterday, and he’s _not_ about to get fucked up by a _plant_ of all things, especially not on a lame mission like this one. They’d been sent out to scout for the village ahead by Byleth (well, Sylvain had been sent, and he’d dragged Felix along), and were nearly halfway back to camp when Felix hears the distinct sound of branches snapping and leaves crashing come from behind him.

When he turns around, Sylvain’s face-first on the ground, his body obscured by bright, glossy green leaves that shine iridescent in the sun. Felix can’t help but snort, even as Sylvain shoots him a puppy-dog pout and begins to pick himself up off the ground. There’s dirt and dust and what looks like pollen smeared across the front of his loose cotton shirt, but he looks relatively unharmed.

“Hey,” Sylvain whines. Felix turns back to camp, unable to prevent a small smirk from curling across his lips. “That hurt, you know.”

The inelegant sounds of Sylvain crashing through the greenery to catch up with him get louder; he’ll probably trip on another root and fall again at this rate. “You should watch where you’re going then.”

Behind him, Sylvain sneezes: once, twice, three times in a row. “Ugh. I hate Adrestria. Too much _nature.”_ He coughs, then sneezes again. 

Felix hums in agreement. They’ve been on the move with the army for what’s felt like a year, but in reality has only been two months. The trek to Enbarr is slow, and their prize at the end will simply be more bloodshed and warfare. Felix loves the thrill of the fight, the way adrenaline sings in his lungs during battle, but he finds no joy in this – it’s grueling, unforgiving work, and to top it off, it’s unbearably hot, even by his own standards. He knows Sylvain’s been practically melting beneath the heavy layers of his armor, roasting under the hot summer sun.

“Hey, Fe? Can we take a breather for a sec?”

When Felix turns around for the second time, Sylvain’s leaning against a tree, breathing harder than usual given that all they’d been doing is walking at a steady, if not slow, pace. His forehead is pressed up against his arm, and when Felix looks closer he can see that he’s noticeabley paler than earlier, his freckles lighting up across his face, bright constellations on a moonless night. Felix tries to ignore the fact that he’s been noticing Sylvain’s freckles more and more lately.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little– out of breath–”

Sylvain’s hand grazes up his side, moving gingerly across his ribs. A jolt of genuine worry hits Felix; Sylvain has always brushed off minor (and major) injuries as “nothing more than a scratch,” joking around lightheartedly about the possibility of their imminent death before every battle.

(He stopped doing that when Felix rounded on him one day, heartsick and frustrated after Sylvain had charged through, the definition of reckless, into a group of enemy soldiers with no backup or strategy or care for the consequences of his actions.

 _“Do you not remember our promise?”_ Felix had snapped furiously, getting a sick sort of satisfaction in the way Sylvain’s face fell, then turned meek and full of shame. Of course he remembered. How could he not? _“Stop playing around. You’re not dying anytime soon.”_ At least, not if Felix had any say in it.)

Felix backtracks, picking his way through the juniper. Sylvain’s eyes flick up towards him – and there’s that mask again, the one Felix has seen a million times before and knows like the back of his own hand, a fake grin sliding cleanly into place. It doesn’t quite hide how he’s still breathing heavily, but then Sylvain straightens up and pushes his hand through already disheveled hair and _seems_ fine.

“Sorry. Got a little winded, I guess.” 

That’s the only explanation Sylvain provides before he’s walking past Felix towards camp. He notes that Sylvain seems steady on his feet, and there’s a little bit of color back in his face, breathlessness gone as quickly as it came. _Weird._

Felix doesn’t puzzle over it for much longer, though, because Sylvain’s panting and gasping for breath again not long after. These bursts of pain happen again and again, slowing their progress down to a crawl, but it’s not until the fourth episode – which ends with Sylvain sitting on the ground, head in his hands, trying to catch his breath – that he agrees to do something about it.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to Mercie,” Felix says, more confident than he actually feels. Sylvain just nods, mouth pulled into a grim line as he stumbles up and rights himself, staggering slightly as he follows Felix.

—

Somehow, they make it back to camp.

Sylvain has broken out into full-body shivers by the time Felix tracks Mercedes down and drags her in front of Sylvain. No explanation is needed, not at first. Sylvain looks like absolute shit, pale and clammy, his casual smile long-gone from his face and replaced with a glassy, unfocused look as he blinks blearily down at Mercedes. His lower lip is pulpy and red where he’s bitten it, and that, combined with the feverish flush that’s spread high across his cheeks, has Felix’s mind wandering to places it really does not need to be right now.

“Get him to his tent. I’ll follow you.” 

Mercedes jumps into action right away, confident in her directions as she ducks into her tent – for supplies, Felix guesses. He’s relieved to have an order to follow, clear steps he can take to ensure Sylvain is okay. He keeps a wary eye on Sylvain as they make their way through camp – his tent isn’t very far, but he stays close regardless, watching as he occasionally stumbles over his feet. Felix has a sinking feeling that if he let Sylvain out of his sight, it’d only be a matter of time until he’s collapsed somewhere on the ground again.

Sylvain hits his sleeping roll hard, groaning into his pillow as he curls up on his side. Mercedes doesn’t take long in following them, setting a basket down and kneeling next to him. Her hands are immediately aglow with healing magic, stronger and more focused than anything Felix has ever been capable of. It takes a massive amount of self-control to step back and give her space; every cell in his body screams for him to go comfort Sylvain, to push the sweaty hair back from his brow and slide his fingers between his. 

No, no, _no._ They aren’t together. They haven’t been, despite the fact that sometimes Felix can’t help himself from staring down the sharp line of Sylvain’s shoulders, or watching him from across the battlefield, eyes immediately gravitating towards that shock of red hair and breathing a sigh of relief whenever he finds it. Sylvain’s caught him staring a handful of times, Felix immediately averting his eyes in an obvious blush, but he’s not actually that embarrassed, not when he’s noticed Sylvain looking, too.

(They’d talked about it once. Well, to say they’d _talked_ would be a stretch – it went more like this: Sylvain pressing his lips to his in a dizzying rush after a particularly difficult battle, one where Felix thought for a brief second he actually wouldn’t make it before the professor’s whip had crackled through the air and decimated the slew of monsters around him. Felix had been too shell-shocked to respond, but Sylvain’s mouth moving against his and his hand smearing blood against his cheek, tenderness seeping through relief for the briefest moment, said enough. “Thank the Goddess you’re alive,” Sylvain whispered before pulling him into a bruising hug against the hot metal of his armor’s breastplate. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

They hadn’t talked about the kiss after that, letting it hang untouched between them.)

“He’s poisoned.” Mercedes’ hands move over Sylvain’s side, working magic through in deep pulses. She’s unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and Felix can see a light sheen of sweat across his freckled, sunburnt chest. Her face crumples into a frown, then a grimace, when she presses a thumb into the side of his neck. Felix’s heart twists, then shatters completely, at the whimper Sylvain lets out.

“Did he eat anything? Drink anything?” Mercedes’ questions come rapidfire, and Felix has to take a minute to kick his brain back into working to properly parse their meaning.

“No. I don’t think so. We left camp, went scouting, and we were halfway back when he started complaining about…” Felix trails off, temporarily lost in the way Sylvain’s hands curl tight into his bedroll. “...about not being able to breathe.”

“Well, there must’ve been _some_ way he ingested it.” 

“Ingested _what?”_

“Some sort of… magic, I think.” Felix is about to scream _what magic?_ when Mercedes’ hands move up, carding through Sylvain’s hair. It’s a testament to how awful Sylvain must be feeling, if he’s too far in pain to crack jokes or wiggle his eyebrows in that stupid, flirty way he always does. A light yellow dust dances through the air when she draws her fingers back. “Maybe… Oh! I recognize this… it’s… ah.”

“It’s _what?”_ Felix feels like he’s going to lose his mind with impatience.

Mercedes turns away from Sylvain to look up at him, nose wrinkled. “It’s dark magic.” Felix’s stomach promptly drops, and it feels like every single coherent thought has left his body when she asks: “Did he touch any plants? Felix, this is _very_ important–”

“Yes, yeah, yeah, he fell in a bush – but what does that have to do with his breathing?”

Mercedes inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s a type of dark magic. I’ve only seen it once before, but… it’s manufactured to serve as a distraction, playing upon one’s desires, heightening those feelings until it becomes unbearable.” She sighs again at Felix’s confused expression. _“Sexual_ desires, I mean.”

“Oh.” Understanding hits Felix like a punch to the teeth. He looks down at where Sylvain’s curled on the bedroll; he’s unnaturally quiet, chewing on his lower lip, eyes clenched shut as another wave of pain hits him. _Fuck._ Felix can’t stand to see him like this, it feels like his insides are being ripped out, too.

“What do we do?” His own voice sounds far away through his ears.

“Wait it out.” This is met with a soft groan from Sylvain. Relief immediately floods through Felix; it can’t be that bad yet if he’s managed to listen and understand what she’s been saying. “Thankfully, it’s not deadly – just very painful. Healing and medicine don’t do much to touch it.” 

“Is there anything I– _we_ can do?” If Mercedes notices him catching himself and stumbling over his words, she mercifully chooses not to comment.

“Skin to skin contact will help.” Felix can’t bear to meet her eyes as she rattles off an increasingly alarming list of side-effects, ticking them off one-by-one on her fingers. “He’ll have a fever for at least tonight. Increased libido, difficulty climaxing. Mild hallucinations, maybe, depending on how much he inhaled.” She sighs and rubs her thumb over Sylvain’s damp forehead, which causes a noticeable difference in his composure: he seems to melt into the bedroll, breathing steadily under her touch. “Armies have been known to use this type of magic in warfare. It’s easy to slaughter when the opposing forces can’t even think straight.”

Mercedes turns to Felix now, gathering up the small basket she’d brought and handing it to him. “There’s some medicine – it _might_ take the edge off, but it’s better than nothing.” She moves to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait–” Felix stutters. “Where are you going? What do I do?” 

“Make sure he stays in his tent. The side effects are only just starting to set in, but he’ll be very… um, insistent, later on.” Mercedes blushes and looks away. Felix balks, but she continues regardless. “Make sure he stays hydrated. I’ll bring food by, but I need to go alert the professor and Dimitri immediately.”

She’s already halfway out of the tent by the time Felix gathers enough wits to try and ask again: “Will– will doing… will it help with the pain?” His voice is a rough croak, and when Mercedes turns around, it’s with a look of utmost sympathy and compassion on her face. It kind of makes Felix want to cry.

“...Yes. It’ll bring him temporary relief until the magic has worked its way out of his system.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Felix alone with a feverish Sylvain. He stares blankly at the tent flaps swinging behind her until Sylvain interrupts him with a pathetic whimper.

“Fe…” Sylvain’s eyes lock onto his, hazy but still coherent. He grits his teeth as another wave of pain rocks through him, and all Felix can do is fold to his knees at his side and shuffle closer. His fingertips itch to pull Sylvain close against his chest and keep him there, but he settles for resting the back of his hand lightly against Sylvain’s forehead, under the shoddy pretense of taking his temperature. Sylvain sighs into his touch in response, his breath evening out and the foggy haze clearing from his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Felix asks. 

Sylvain closes his eyes and pushes his forehead up into Felix’s hand. “Hot.” Felix watches a bead of sweat roll down the side of his temple to soak into already-damp hair. “It’s… it’s gonna get really bad, huh?”

“It seems like it,” Felix admits. Sylvain huffs a sad, restless noise, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Sylvain, is there… is there anyone I can go get to spend this with you?” Saying the words out loud hurt worse than being struck in the chest by an arrow, but Felix _has_ to. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t? His mind immediately goes to the girls he’d seen Sylvain flirting with this morning, ignoring the hot curl of jealousy that coils in his gut at the mere thought of them seeing Sylvain like this.

“No.” Felix hates that he’s relieved by Sylvain’s answer. 

“Except…” The hopeful bubble forming in his chest deflates rapidly, but Sylvain doesn’t finish his thought, eyes cracking open to stare, fever-bright, up at Felix.

“Except what, Sylvain?”

“You.” He breathes it out all in one whoosh of air.

Felix waits a beat, then two, then three. “What?” And then: “Why?”

Sylvain laughs shakily and pulls his hands free from where they’re clutching the blankets, untangling his fingers to reach out for him. Felix leans in, pulled down into Sylvain’s orbit by his hand brushing soft across his arm, his shoulder, his neck. Something sparks hot in his stomach as Sylvain’s fingers rest beneath his ear, stroking his thumb over the skin there.

“I trust you.” 

_That’s barely an explanation,_ Felix thinks, but he bites his tongue and runs his thumb over Sylvain’s hairline, silently reveling in the instant reaction he gets: a soft sigh escapes his parted lips, lashes fluttering shut in contented pleasure. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Sylvain’s voice has gone slightly cold around the edges, laced with that edge of monotonality Felix is all-too familiar with. “I get it. I really do.” 

And Sylvain would, wouldn’t he? He’d know, better than most people, how it feels to be taken and used; how it feels to shelve away his own desires and offer himself up as a thing for another’s needs. Felix continues to smooth his hair back, feeling just as grounded by the sensation as Sylvain seems to be. His shirt is still half-undone, hair mussed and damp, fingers stroking gently over Felix’s neck, but he’s gone quiet, eyes watching for his response, tentatively unsure in a way Felix never really sees him.

“Okay.” 

Sylvain blinks up at him like he’s grown another head. “Felix?”

He forces himself to meet Sylvain’s eyes. There’s a bright edge of pain there, hovering on the surface, evident in how he blinks slowly and sweat beads under Felix’s fingertips, but he’s still still very much lucid.

“Are you sure, Sylvain?” Felix feels his cheeks flush; this is as close to any sort of discussion they’ve ever had about… whatever it is they are. This is both of them, consciously stepping over the line of _just friends_ and into something undoubtedly more complicated. Felix has to be sure. He _has_ to.

Sylvain breaks into a small smile. It’s blindingly bright, a sliver of white under faded canvas walls. “Yes, Felix, _yes–”_

“It’s not just because of… this?” Felix cuts in even as his eyes slide away from him, all his courage suddenly lost at the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way. He’s surprised when Sylvain laughs again, lower this time. When his fingers slide up to Felix’s jawline to tilt his head down to look at him, Felix can only see honesty and trust, laid bare and vulnerable, only for him. “No, Felix.” His voice cracks a little. “It’s always been you.”

Felix’s heart shatters at this, because the thought that they could’ve had _this,_ all this time, is almost too much to bear. He pulls away abruptly, sure for the first time all day about what he has to do, but then Sylvain’s whimpering again, eyes gone back to glassy without his touch. He automatically moves back, drawn by the pathetic noises Sylvain’s making, this time cupping his cheeks with both hands and looking him right in the eyes.

“Okay. Alright. Listen, I’m coming back, but– I need to go grab some things before it gets worse. Water, food. Alright?” Sylvain’s brows immediately furrow, protests forming on his lips. His eyes go a little wild, almost scared, and Felix tries his best to soothe him, stroking his thumbs against his cheeks.

“Don’t leave.” Sylvain’s voice sounds so impossibly small. 

“Five minutes,” Felix says, voice cracking, feeling his resolve waver as Sylvain looks up at him, desperate and hurting. “I’ll be back in five minutes, I swear. I promise.”

Sylvain visibly relaxes at the word _promise,_ though he’s still worrying his lower lip through his teeth. “Okay. Alright.”

It nearly kills Felix to tear himself away and ignore the soft sob behind him as Sylvain curls further into the blankets, but he somehow manages, driven blindly out of the tent with a single goal in mind: get back to Sylvain as quickly as possible. Thank _fuck_ he set up his own tent close by. Felix piles almost everything inside in his arms: bedroll, water, his own pack of clothes and dried jerky and extra field rations he’d squirreled away, swords. He raids Ingrid’s tent next door for extra water (he’ll incur her wrath later, but right now he couldn’t give a shit) and runs, full-speed, back to Sylvain’s tent.

Sylvain’s half undressed now, his shirt torn off and thrown in the opposite corner of the tent. His face is fully flushed, pressed into the blankets, and he’s making these needy noises that make all the blood in Felix’s brain rush immediately south. It takes Felix a moment to figure out what he’s doing: rocking slightly against the bedroll, searching for friction and relief. 

Felix shoves his belongings into an untidy pile near Sylvain’s armor and takes up his earlier position, kneeling at his side once more. Sylvain reaches one hand out for him from the mess of blankets, and Felix takes it readily, slipping his palm into Sylvain’s larger one. His touch calms Sylvain enough to open his eyes and look up at him, repressed need evident in how his eyes have gone dark and half-lidded.

“Fe, Felix– _fuck,_ it hurts.”

“I know.” Felix brings his free hand to rest back on Sylvain’s forehead. It feels safe, practiced. Like home. “I’m here.” It’s a sorry attempt at being comforting (something he’s never, ever been good at, not like Mercedes or Annette are), but Sylvain nods and curls himself closer, bringing his face to Felix’s knee, pressing his nose there insistently. It doesn’t seem to calm him like Felix’s hand on his forehead. Felix remembers Mercedes’ words: _skin to skin contact._ Right. 

Before Felix can think about what he’s doing, he slides the buttons through on his shirt and peels it off his frame before scooting in next to Sylvain, who’s _immediately_ all over him, wrapping him up so that they’re facing each other, pressed chest to chest. The heat radiating off of Sylvain is almost unbearable; Felix feels smothered by it, combined with his scent, earthy like horses and the smell of the road, but clean underneath it all, orange-pine soap coming through.

“Felix,” Sylvain murmurs, sounding much happier than he had a few seconds ago. Felix wriggles a little, adjusting so that he can get his arms around him, hands settling in the center of Sylvain’s back, rubbing gentle circles over the muscles there. He can feel Sylvain’s cock, half-hard through his trousers, pushing up against his stomach, but Sylvain doesn’t move to do anything about it, so neither does he.

Being suffocated into a sweaty bear-hug wasn’t exactly how he’d thought this would go, but if that’s what Sylvain needs, then, well, Felix is here for him. 

“Better?” Felix asks, words coming out muffled against Sylvain’s skin. He can feel Sylvain nod above him and press his face down into his hair.

“Much.” 

Sylvain’s contentment is fleeting, though, because soon he’s squirming and pulling Felix up until they’re nose-to-nose on the pillow. Sylvain moves him around easily, arranging his limbs so that he’s pressed up against his side, Sylvain’s arms squeezing him close around his hips, Felix’s hands cradling his face again. 

Sylvain’s eyes squeeze shut, and he gasps again, and all Felix can do is hold him through it, stroke his cheeks, search his face for any sign of the pain letting up. “You okay?”

This time, Sylvain shakes his head _no._ “It’s– it’s getting worse. Felix, it _hurts.”_

His chest aches. “I know. What do you need?”

Sylvain lets out a low whine at this, his fingers back at that spot under Felix’s ear, brushing along his jawline. “Kiss me. Please.”

He’s never been able to deny Sylvain much; this time isn’t any different. Felix looks down at Sylvain’s lips: they’re already swollen, slick-red and bitten from where he’d been chewing at them earlier. He leans in, and despite the circumstances, it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of: warmth floods through him as Sylvain clutches at his neck like a lifeline, his tongue soft and wet and probing against his lips. It’s nothing like that kiss all those weeks ago at Fort Merceus. This one is sweet, slow and tender. The desperation hits differently this time around. 

Felix isn’t surprised when Sylvain’s tongue slips into his mouth and licks there, but it takes his breath away nonetheless, and he can’t help the small whine that leaves his throat, only to be swallowed up by Sylvain, who moans in turn. 

When they break away, everything has changed. Felix is transfixed by the joy mixed with need on Sylvain’s face, like this is everything he’s ever been waiting for. A gossamer strand of spit connects their lips, and Felix can’t help but lean in again to slip his tongue between Sylvain’s teeth, tasting him properly: wet warmth and something sweet.

“P– please,” Sylvain begs, turning his face to smear sloppy kisses all along his cheek, down his jaw, back up his throat and to his ear. He sucks little bruises into the skin there as he goes, and all Felix can do is hold on and let him, one hand winding through red locks, the other steadying himself against Sylvain’s broad shoulder. Felix doesn’t know exactly what he’s begging for, but Sylvain seems content enough, at least for the moment, to bite plum bruises all across his throat, and Felix is more than happy to do so, tipping his head back to bare more skin.

The heat between them builds, and soon Felix is sweating too, overheating from the way Sylvain has nearly rolled on top of him, grinding his erection into his leg.

“‘m too hot,” Sylvain slurs into his neck, wriggling discontentedly in his pants, which are clearly too tight. There’s no shame, just pure need, when Sylvain pleads: “Off. Off, please.”

Felix swallows thickly and pulls back, allowing his hands to dance down over the button there. He can’t find it in him to tease, not when Sylvain’s whimpering in his arms like he’ll die if he doesn’t get his pants off. There’s the rustle of leggings being stripped off, a fumbled tangle of socks and legs, then they’re both down to their smalls, and Sylvain’s pressing a thick thigh back up against Felix, sighing, fractionally calmer. “Yeah, yeah, Fe, like that.”

The praise hits so good and goes straight to his groin, prideful pleasure in the fact that he’s helping Sylvain feel better. Felix plants his hands on each of Sylvain’s cheeks again and pulls him in for a kiss, and then another, feeling dizzy and punch-drunk with how natural and _good_ it all feels, like they were made for this. Sylvain melts under his touch, hands roaming up and down Felix’s back, greedy where they palm at his ass and the backs of his thighs.

A jolt of electricity rolls down Felix’s spine, sharp and sudden, when Sylvain wraps his hands around his hips and maneuvers them so that Felix is straddled on top of him, thighs splayed out on either side of Sylvain’s belly. 

“Felix, baby, you feel so good.” Sylvain sounds hazy when he mumbles into his neck. Felix can feel his cock, fully hard now, pressing insistently into the cleft of his ass as he ruts against him. “So good, so good for me…”

“What do you need?” He’s surprised at how low his voice sounds in his own ears. 

Sylvain whimpers again. “Touch me, p-please-”

“Here?” Felix scoots down, groaning as Sylvain’s cock slides against his through the fabric of their smalls. Sylvain’s dick is already leaking, and Felix feels not too far behind him.

“Yes, _yes,_ Felix, Fe, Fe, Fe–” Sylvain’s babbling now, an endless stream of fragments of Felix’s name, hands roaming over any part of Felix he can reach. Felix moves back to his lips, quieting his cries with his own mouth. The tent walls are far from soundproof, and although everyone is most likely at dinner by now, Sylvain’s being _far_ too loud, even if every moan and whine makes Felix’s dick twitch.

“Shh, Sylvain–” he tries, but he’s cut off by another loud moan as Sylvain wraps a wide palm around both of them, struggling against the fabric of their underwear. It feels fucking heavenly, his cock pushed up against Sylvain’s, better than Felix has ever imagined in any of his filthiest dreams. 

“Sylvain,” he says again, more commanding this time, and it actually works: Sylvain’s hazy gaze snaps to his, wrist slowing. “You’ve gotta be quiet, alright?” Sylvain just whines and bucks against him in response, gritting his teeth. 

Now, Felix supposes, feels like the right time to take over the situation: Sylvain looks half out of his mind with need, squirming beneath him like he’s going to combust. Felix uses one hand to tug the rest of their clothes off, smalls tangling in their feet, while the other reaches up to stroke against Sylvain’s cheek again. He nearly comes right then and there when Sylvain tilts his head to the side and latches onto his thumb, pulling it into the swirling heat of his mouth.

“Can you be good for me?”

The words feel strange on his tongue, but seeing how they make Sylvain absolutely fucking _melt_ erases every doubt in his mind when he nods and his lips part open to let two of Felix’s fingers push inside, fingertips resting heavy on the plush velvet of his tongue.

“Mmh, yeah, yeah,” Sylvain rambles around his fingers, half-words disintegrating into a soft moan of relief as Felix reaches down with his spit-slick hand to press their bare cocks together and grasp them both. One of Sylvain’s hands moves to cover his own, and they quickly find a steady rhythm together. Sylvain’s dick is hot against his, the friction just this side of too dry, even with Sylvain’s tip steadily dripping, but it seems to be enough for him, at least for the moment. Felix swallows his gasps with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, unable to keep himself from sinking into the wet heat of Sylvain’s mouth over and over again. 

“Hold on, let me–” Sylvain clings onto him when Felix tries to lean over and starts to rummage through his pack, flinging clothes and food all over the floor of the tent before his fingers close around the little bottle of oil tucked away at the bottom, for the nights when he absolutely can’t sleep and needs to take the edge off. 

Sylvain groans appreciatively when Felix uncorks it and drizzles half over them before resettling into his previous position, pinning Sylvain’s hips with the weight of his thighs, leaning over to suck a biting kiss into the slope of his shoulder as Sylvain grasps them both, speeding up with the addition of the oil.

When Felix pulls back, Sylvain looks fucking _wrecked_ beneath him, a trail of drool smeared across his cheek where Felix’s fingers now rest, brown eyes big and a little teary as he looks up at him, fist squeezing hard around both of them. Felix could probably, definitely finish from this alone, the sight of Sylvain, open and vulnerable, begging for him, making his head fuzzy.

“Felix, I’m– I’m sorry, I can’t, I need more,” Sylvain whines, heaving as though he’s run from here to Faerghus and back, tugging desperately on both of their cocks.

“Don’t–” Felix gasps as Sylvain’s teeth bite into his neck. He feels like maybe he got a whiff of that plant, too – but it’s quite possible that he’s just drunk off Sylvain. “Don’t apologize. I said– said I’d be here for you, didn’t I?”

Sylvain nods, pitiful, against his neck. “Yeah, yeah.” He’s quiet, and then he’s turning towards Felix, searching out his face, pressing the pads of his fingers into Felix’s cheekbone like he’ll disappear at any moment. “Felix, I need you to fuck me.”

He feels lightheaded. It only intensifies when Sylvain continues shamelessly: “Please, Fe, need you inside, need you to fill me up.”

Felix promptly shuts him up with a long kiss. He tries to pour himself into it, scratching his fingertips through Sylvain’s sweaty hair, nudging his nose against Sylvain’s, before he nods. “Okay. Alright.”

He slides down along Sylvain’s body, grabbing the oil along the way to reapply a layer to his fingers, letting his hand slide past Sylvain’s painfully hard cock, giving his balls a gentle squeeze before moving to rub over his hole.

 _“Fuck yes–”_ Sylvain chokes on his own moan as Felix teases around his rim, drawing loose circles there. He’s never done this to anyone before, but replicating what he likes on himself is easy enough, and it seems to work: soon Sylvain is pushing back insistently against his fingers, trying to work them inside. “Fe, Fe, Fe, please, I need you. More, please, angel, baby, sweetheart–”

The pet names fall easily off of Sylvain’s loose tongue, each one sending sparks through Felix’s body as he pushes his finger inside. This promptly renders Sylvain speechless, keening into Felix’s touch. He lets his other hand wander as he fingers Sylvain, touching all the places he’s dreamed of: across the tops of his muscled thighs, up and down the carved _v_ of his hips, through the dusting of hair trailing down to where his cock strains up. He dips his head low to run his tongue across freckles and moles and scars, licking and nipping and sucking wherever he can get his mouth, paying extra attention to the spots that have Sylvain trembling beneath him.

Sylvain takes another finger easily, and soon he’s rocking his hips back against Felix’s hand, whining loudly. “R-ready,” Sylvain sobs out, and it’s so unbelievably needy that there’s not much Felix can do but readjust himself to line up at Sylvain’s entrance, slinging his thighs around his hips. Sylvain struggles against him, desperate attempts at fucking himself open on Felix’s cock, but he quiets under Felix’s hands splayed out against his belly, holding him down against the bedroll. 

“Be good,” he chides, which receives a full-body shiver and eager nods from Sylvain. “Yeah, I will, anything for you, ‘ll be so good sweetheart–”

And then Felix pushes in, past the ring of loosened muscle, and Sylvain’s taking him so good, so beautifully, letting his legs fall open and drawing him in deep. Felix sinks steadily into him. It’s not like anything he’s felt before, so much tighter and hotter than any hand or mouth, so much more perfect than anything he’s ever imagined. The look Sylvain gives him is too sweet and almost lucid, dimple creasing itself into his cheek as he smiles up at him. “You’re perfect, Fe,” he gasps, reaching for Felix’s hand and threading his fingers through his atop his stomach. “You feel s-so– good.”

Felix closes his eyes and focuses on evening out his breathing, because it’d be fucking embarrassing to come so soon; he’s here to help Sylvain, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to how good Sylvain feels clenching around his cock, hot silky heat enveloping him completely. He rolls his hips down experimentally, shuddering when Sylvain reaches for him and starts thrusting back onto him eagerly. 

They figure out a steady pace, one that involves Sylvain arching his back up and turning his head into the pillow, moaning long and low into it. Felix folds him in half as best he can and fucks him hard, aiming for the spot that makes Sylvain tighten up around him. Soon Sylvain reaches for his hands, and Felix lets his thighs go in favor of threading their fingers together and pinning them down on either side of Sylvain’s face.

 _“Feeelix,”_ Sylvain drawls against his neck, worrying little teeth marks there possessively. _Fuck._ It’s not going to take much more, Felix feels driven right up to the edge with pleasure already.

“Fuck, Sylvain–” Felix shudders, hips stuttering erratically. “Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, I’m close.” 

“‘S’okay,” Sylvain slurs, slipping one hand out of Felix’s to pump his own cock. He looks blissed out beneath Felix, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “Come inside, baby.” Felix doesn’t know if that’s necessarily a good idea, but it elicits a low groan from him regardless as he slams his hips hard up into Sylvain’s swollen hole. “Wanna make you feel good, Fe.”

“Fuck, _S-Sylvain–!”_

Sylvain watches him hurtle off the cliff, his orgasm hitting hard and knocking the breath from his lungs as he pulses long and low, buried inside of him. He’s still stroking himself up and down slowly, watching with half-lidded eyes as Felix unravels into him, coaxing him through it with murmured, hazy words that wash over him: _I’ve dreamt about this for so long, Fe, you feel so good inside me, you’re a perfect fit, yes, baby, right there._

Clarity comes to him in the form of Sylvain wriggling against his softening cock, sending sparks of overstimulated pleasure through him as he pulls out. Sylvain whines in response, drawing him down to nuzzle into his hair, and Felix goes easily, his body wrung limp as he collapses against the broad width of Sylvain’s chest. He’s sure he’s left finger-shaped bruises in the dips of Sylvain’s hips and across his wrists where he’s held him, souvenirs that are sure to be repeated again and again tonight. Felix works on catching his breath, pillowing his cheek against Sylvain and letting his lashes flutter shut. He can feel Sylvain’s still-hard cock pressing against his stomach, slick with precum and oil.

“Please, can I–“ Sylvain swallows, and Felix tilts his chin up to see pinpricks of pain returning in his eyes. His voice cracks in a half-whisper, miserable with need. “I need to keep going.” 

“Yeah,” Felix exhales, attempting to roll off of Sylvain, but his limbs aren’t cooperating, still jelly-like in his post-orgasm haze; all he ends up doing is flopping a limp arm across his chest. “Can you– you can fuck me?” It comes out as a half-question, half-statement, one met by a fervent _fuck, yes, please,_ from Sylvain, pulling him up and sinking his tongue back into his mouth.

He’s oversensitive, all raw nerves under Sylvain’s touch as he maneuvers him onto his stomach and drapes himself over his back. Sylvain attaches his lips to the notches of his spine, sending shivers up and down the length of it as he arches underneath him and burrows his head in his arms. Everything is magnified tenfold like this, the brush of Sylvain’s hand cupping his ass sending currents along his skin as he rubs firm circles before moving down to his rim, fingers petting there heavily. He’s at least coherent enough to remember to grab the bottle from where Felix flung it off to the side, drizzling oil messily across the small of Felix’s back before pushing in without preamble.

Sylvain’s fingers are larger than his, longer and thicker and more callused, and Felix knows that he’s totally and completely fucked, because _nothing_ could ever feel better than this, could compare to the way Sylvain’s splitting him open so well. He muffles a loud, long moan into the pillow, his dick already twitching and half-hard again. Sylvain pumps in, then out, slow at first but then gaining momentum until Felix is writhing beneath him, grinding his forehead against the pillow and arching back into his touch. He doesn’t know how long he’s been panting _more, more, more_ until he realizes it’s not Sylvain saying that, but _him –_ it doesn’t matter, anyway, because when Sylvain slides another finger snug his words blend together and effervesce into one long, loud _Sylvain,_ to which he leans over his back and tugs on the tip of his ear with his teeth and whispers _yes, love?_

“Fuck, Sylvain, please–”

“Can I–”

 _“Yes, yes,”_ Felix sobs as Sylvain presses on his prostate and rubs there firmly, the filthy, distinct sounds of him pumping his own cock just audible over where his head is shoved into the pillow. He withdraws, and Felix gasps at the feeling of sudden emptiness, craning his neck just in time to catch Sylvain’s gaze, focused in on where he’s slowly pushing the head of his cock into him. Sylvain’s hands keep his hips up, one hand splayed flat over his belly as he steadily presses in, and in, and _in,_ and _fuck,_ finally bottoms out and presses the warmth of his body against Felix’s ass. Sylvain’s burning up, making Felix feverish in all the places they touch, breath hot in his ear as he whispers, “Look at you, angel, you look so good for me, taking me so well, _fuck.”_

Felix feels as though he’s going to evaporate under Sylvain’s words, his cheeks burning flames across his cheeks as Sylvain picks up the pace and starts to fuck him hard, moving his hips in little circles so Felix can feel him _everywhere._ Sylvain’s panting against him harshly, but he doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore, his expression one of complete and utter bliss as he fucks into Felix. When Sylvain’s hands loosen around his hips and come up to weave their fingers together by his face, he holds on, grateful to be grounded.

Felix keeps his body pliant for Sylvain, rocking back against him through his steady thrusts, and he doesn’t even realize he’s hard again until Sylvain’s hand sinks down to wrap around him. 

“You okay?” Sylvain murmurs into his ear, soft and steady, checking in on him. 

Felix nods. “Yeah. Yeah, is this– is it good? For you?”

Sylvain laughs quietly, slowing his thrusts. “Fuck, Felix, I’ve– I’ve never felt anything better.” His hand traces up and down his side, outlining his silhouette with a touch that feels a little too close to love. “You’re perfect, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Felix shudders and whimpers under him, under the weight of the pet name pressed into the back of his neck, under the fact that out of all the other people Sylvain has been with, he’s the best Sylvain’s ever had. He doesn’t know if it’s just the magic talking, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he cares. It’s a heady rush, feeling wanted like this.

“Yeah, you like that? Sweetheart. Angel.” Felix can hear the smirk in Sylvain’s voice as his cock drags deep inside him, then pulls out. “Darling. Kitten. Fe.” Felix lets his hips fall back, desperate to be filled again, but Sylvain stops him, one hand firmly gripping his body in place, the other reaching around to tease over one of his nipples. He writhes against him, arching up for more.

“Please, Syl–”

“It’s okay, Fe, I’m right here.” Sylvain sounds completely lucid now, shushing Felix’s cries with the warm weight of his lips. His hand speeds up around him, and his hips start thrusting in time again, and Sylvain’s whispering _I’ve got you, baby, you can let go now,_ and then, before he can fully comprehend what’s happening, that little bit of tenderness pushes him right over the edge and he’s coming again, dribbling weakly down his cock and all over Sylvain’s hand, whining quietly into the pillow.

He’s loose and pliant when Sylvain gently turns him over and pushes in again, whimpering into the curve of Sylvain’s neck, his fingers curled around sweat-slick locks. Felix loses track of time, his lower half mostly numb as he keeps his legs spread wide for Sylvain to fuck into, making a home between his hips as he thrusts in, sweat running in rivulets down his neck. He moans openly now with little regard to how much noise they’re making, getting lost in the blotchy blush spread down Sylvain’s freckled chest as his thrusts speed up and turn erratic, starting to unravel and sob.

“Please, Fe, Fe, Fe–“

Felix brushes his hair from his face and cradles his jaw in his hand and uses Sylvain’s own line back at him, whispering, “Sylvain, I’m right here, it’s okay,” into his temple.

“Yeah,” Sylvain sobs, nodding. 

“Come in me,” Felix coaxes, and this has Sylvain crying out, notching teeth marks into his neck, shuddering above him, holding him so tight that Felix knows there’ll be bruises on his hips and thighs tomorrow, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Sylvain’s eyes are rolling back and he’s whining softly into the skin of his neck, pulsing wetly into him, coming in wild, desperate bursts. Felix watches, memorizes the way he bites down hard on his lip and how his muscles feel, rippling velvet against his stomach, entranced by the sight of Sylvain coming undone into him, mouth slack and eyebrows furrowed as his thrusts come to a slow stop.

The afterglow is short-lived but sweet, Sylvain gathering him up in his arms like he wants him to live there. It’s comforting, being surrounded on all sides by the warmth of him, stroking through his hair and nuzzling into his neck. It doesn’t take long, though, for the needy whimpers to start up again, for Sylvain’s hands to start roaming between his thighs and over his ass, for Sylvain to get hard again. 

Sylvain fucks him again, later that night: Felix tucked up in his lap, Sylvain’s fingertips nearly touching around his waist where he drags him up and down on his own cock, fucking into his body for what feels like hours; Sylvain riding Felix, the silky slick heat of Sylvain around his oversensitive dick bordering on painful as he uses Felix for his own pleasure, crying little sobs into Felix’s neck as he takes him; Felix’s lips wrapped around his cock, Sylvain thrusting into the heat of his mouth as he fists his fingers through tangled hair and moans brokenly above him.

Finally, when Felix is exhausted and wrung-out, the fever breaks.

They both sleep after that. Felix in shorter shifts, waking up to mop the sleep-sweat from Sylvain’s brow with one of their dirty shirts and to coax him little sips of water as he smiles blearily at him before collapsing back into sleep. Sometimes, Sylvain sleeps with an arm slung around Felix’s waist, drawing him close, nuzzling his nose into his neck and pawing at him. For the most part, Sylvain just sprawls out on the bedroll, taking up the entire thing, Felix unconsciously drifting towards him for warmth during the night.

—

When Felix wakes up, it’s to the sight of hazel brown eyes looking down at him and a lone finger tracing a gentle line across his brow bone. 

“Hi,” Sylvain says. There’s a hint of shy embarrassment there when Felix finally opens his eyes, but his finger doesn’t stop it’s path, nor does he move away. Sylvain is pressed all along the length of his side, his arm resting warm and heavy across Felix’s chest.

“Hi,” Felix croaks back, his voice more than a little wrecked. He reaches up to thumb an unruly lock of hair out of Sylvain’s face, which earns him an honest curl of a smile before he presses the back of his wrist to Sylvain’s forehead. It’s less clammy than before. “Your fever broke.”

“Yeah. It did.” Sylvain’s smile looks relieved, but it quickly melts into something more anxious. “Listen, Felix, I–”

Felix rolls his eyes and brings his hand down to stroke along Sylvain’s neck, tracing the mottled marks he left there last night, fresh bruises and bites peppering all the way down his chest. There’s probably more than a few littered on his thighs, too. “You don’t have to thank me, Sylvain.” 

“But–”

Felix shakes his head. “No.” Sylvain looks down at him inquisitively. “No, Sylvain... It was…” _fucking incredible? mind-blowing? definitely the best sex I think I’ll ever have?_ “...good. For me, too.”

Sylvain’s face slowly morphs into a pleased smile, dipping down to purr into Felix’s neck, clustering chaste kisses there with a grin on his face. “Yeah, it _was_ pretty good, wasn’t it?” 

Felix can’t help but smile through his blush. Relief floods through him at the sight of Sylvain across from him, safe and no longer in pain. Still, he swats at him playfully. 

“What? You said it yourself!” Sylvain’s laughter rumbles through Felix’s chest, filling him with inexplicable warmth. 

“Yeah. It was good. But... no more falling into bushes.” Felix doesn't mention that he doesn’t know if his body can handle another night like this, at least not for a while. _“Especially_ weird… sex magic bushes.”

Sylvain smiles into his neck. “Alright. I think I can get on board with that.”

Felix hums in response, moving his fingers across the curve of Sylvain’s jaw, brushing careful patterns there before wrinkling his nose. They’re both filthy, sweat and fluids covering their already road-dirty skin, hair matted and tangled. 

“We should get up,” Felix offers, but makes no move to slide out from under Sylvain, who laughs again and pulls him down into the warm cage of his arms, snuggling into him insistently. His nose finds Felix’s neck and makes a home there, smearing more kisses across his skin. 

“Walking sounds fucking _awful_ right now.”

Felix can’t disagree, his muscles ache from the sheer voracity of Sylvain’s appetite last night, folding him into positions he didn’t even know were possible. He cards his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, keeping him close. Now that Felix has had a taste of this, of _them,_ together, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to let go. 

“Ten more minutes,” Felix acquiesces. Time isn’t a luxury they have much of, but he’s feeling self-indulgent, and it seems Sylvain is too. He hums low, rolling Felix over until he’s pinned below him on his back, arching up into his touch.

Soon, they’ll have to face the reality of what happened and what it means for them. Felix knows that there will, inevitably, be a _talk_ – to figure things out and define what they are now. Soon, he’ll have to drag Sylvain down to the river and scrub the sweat away, dunk both their heads under cool, refreshing water and comb out their knotted hair. 

But until then, he has ten more minutes of curling into Sylvain’s arms and letting himself be pampered under his mouth and fingers, letting him kiss over every bruise and massage out his sore muscles. Ten more minutes of tracing his hands up and down Sylvain’s sides, mapping the silhouette of his body covering his own, his gaze heavy as he works to memorize every freckle and dimple. Ten more minutes of listening to Sylvain hum sweet nothings into his skin, ribbons of content joy unspooling between them when Sylvain leans down to murmur, _ten minutes sounds good to me, sweetheart._

**Author's Note:**

> i thought "sylvain can have a little sex pollen, as a treat" at 3am, so it's only fitting i post this at 3am??? anyway [tweet me](https://twitter.com/cherryconke)!
> 
> (thank u cha for looking over this, ily)


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